A Book By Its Cover
by Werewolves of London
Summary: Harry is horrified to discover that this year's bestselling novel is an unfunny and completely unauthorised parody of his life. Can he find the author and put a stop to it before the next book in the series is released?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I started this fic over a year ago and published it under another account, but I never got around to finishing it. It was the first serious fanfic I had worked on for a long time, so I am determined that I will get it back up and finish it.

Credit for the overall plot goes to **Emmylou** on Fictionalley Park, who came up with the following storyline: "Harry reads the best-selling book of the year only to find it's about him – or rather a character that's identical to him doing some things Harry would never dream of doing…but who would write such trash about him and why?"

A bit of trivia: I wanted to have Hermione mention Ottakar's (which changed the name of all its shops to "Pottakar's" for one day when the sixth book was released) but now it has been taken over by HMV and rebranded into Waterstone's. So I have to use that shop instead.

A Book By Its Cover

by Werewolves of London

**Chapter 1**

After a morning spent investigating into the activities of a cartel rumoured to be smuggling illegal Dark artefacts in and out of Britain, 37–year–old Auror Harry Potter was just about ready for his lunch break. He was about to go and have a coffee when the door burst open and Hermione came in without knocking.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. Ron had an annoying habit of turning up unannounced, but although Hermione worked in the same building as Harry, she was in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and he didn't normally see her during office hours. "Is something wrong?"

She shook her head. "There's no time. Look, Harry, I can't hang about. I just thought there was something you should see." She took out a plastic bag from inside her coat and thrust it at him. "Here, look at this." Harry took it and pulled out a heavy paperback, titled Potty Gary and the Philosopher Get Stoned. On the cover was a gaudy picture of a boy who had spiky hair and what appeared to be a cartoon storm cloud drawn on his forehead. He was sitting on cushions and smoking a water pipe, while a red–haired boy and a girl with a bush where her head should have been sat in the background giggling. Harry turned the book over, trying to make sense of the blurb on the back but only registering the words _Now over three million copies sold!_

"Potty Gary," he said after a few moments of silence. "I take it that's supposed to be me, then."

"Well, yes. But read it," Hermione insisted.

"Where did you get this?"

"At Waterstone's. And this is just the first book in the series. There's at least two more. The Muggles LOVE them! The shop assistant said it's the bestselling series of the year. There are tie–ins, merchandise, everything."

"Merchandise?"

"And there's a film in the works. I've heard Johnny Depp is in talks to play Gary."

"So they've really sold more than three million copies? Why haven't you heard about this before?" he demanded.

"I haven't had much time to go shopping since I had Hugo. And I told you, that's just the first book. It's more like ten million now. The author's been writing these for a couple of years and people are mad for them. There was a queue all round the shop!"

"Then how did you get hold of one?" asked Harry.

She looked sheepish. "Never mind. The point is, have you actually read it?" She snatched the book out of his hands and flicked through the pages. "Here. Have a look at this." Harry took it from her and read.

_Bulbous Dumbodore shuffled into the classroom. "Today, kids, I'm going to teach you how to pull a rabbit out of a hat," he said. Then his pants fell down. "Whoops. Anyone for a candy lemon?"_

_"Shut up, Dumbo, and roll us another blunt!" said Potty Gary. Gary swaggered to the front of the room, making sure to keep tossing his head about so his fangirls could swoon over his scar, and kicked the blackboard over. "You heard the man! School's out for the summer! School's out forever!"_

"_Oh no, Gary, you can't say that! We should all be doing our homework like good little boys and girls!" said Hernia Grunger, the resident bookworm._

"_How about you stop the yapping and flash us your boobs!" shouted Dorko Ferretboy. The class laughed. Someone farted._

"Who the hell wrote this?" said Harry. He closed the book and looked at the name on the cover. "J.S.D. Rowland? Who's that?"

"There was a picture of him in the shop. He looks like a cross between a troll and a Blast-Ended Skrewt. But he's a Muggle, supposedly."

"He must be related to a wizard, or he wouldn't know anything about Hogwarts."

"Pigzits, actually," Hermione corrected him.

"What?"

"That's what it's called in the book. Pigzits School of Magic and Magic Mushrooms."

"Right," Harry said. "Does Ron know about this?"

"Yes, I showed him this morning. That's why he's taken the day off. He's gone to drown his sorrows down at the Leaky Cauldron."

Harry slammed the book down on his desk. "Very sensible. So come on, we're going to join him."

"Harry –"

"I need a drink. Let's go and have a Firewhiskey first, and then we can find the author."

She stared at him suspiciously. "Are you sure this is such a good idea?"

"Forget that report I was supposed to write on the trade in counterfeit dragons' eggs," said Harry resolutely. "We're going for a drink, then we're going to track down this L.S.D. Robinson –"

"J.S.D. Rowland!"

"- and tell him to stop writing this absolute pile of _dung_ once and for all!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** A big thank you to **xClutteredxChaosx** and **The Lime-Wielding Ninja**, who reviewed the first chapter. I hope you enjoy this one.

A Book By Its Cover

by Werewolves of London

**Chapter 2**

"Make it go _away,"_ Ron complained.

He, Harry and Hermione were now sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, all on their third Firewhiskey each. They had brought their copy of Potty Gary and the Philosopher Get Stoned with them; Ron had taken to opening the book at intervals and reading the worst parts aloud, loudly enough to be heard by the customers at other tables.

"We can't," Harry said. "So we're going to find this author and tell him to stop writing it."

"But what if he won't?" asked Hermione.

"We're wizards and he's not. We can get him to stop. Or at least make sure he'll be very, very careful what he writes from now on."

"How do you know he's not a wizard? If he didn't go to Hogwarts, he must be on very good terms with someone who did," she pointed out.

"I'll bloody make him stop writing. Listen to this!" said Ron, holding up the book. _"'Hernia! Hurry up and wash my leather pants!' said Gary. 'I'm screwing Dorko this afternoon, and I don't want him to be prettier than me!' Meanwhile, John Weasel stuffed another Crunchy Frog into his mouth, and belched."_

"'John Weasel?'" Hermione suppressed a giggle as Ron glared at her. Suddenly, an elderly witch sitting at the bar gave an explosive sneeze. Ron jumped, knocking Potty Gary off the table and sending Hermione's drink flying as he leaned over to get the book. "Honestly, Ron, be careful! _Evanesco!"_

"'Snot my fault, 's Potty Gary's," muttered Ron.

"Let's look at what we know about the author so far. He's been writing these books since …" Harry flicked to the inside pages and looked at the date of publication. "2014. It sounds like he's an American –"

"No, he's not," said Hermione. "His characters talk like Americans, but he's definitely British. While I was in the shop, I had a look at his biography in the front of his latest book. It says he grew up in Stoke–on–Trent and now he's living as a recluse near Snowdonia."

"You really do think of everything, don't you?" Harry said admiringly. "Wales it is, first thing in the morning, then."

"Wait, Harry," Hermione protested. "We can't all just take time off from work like that."

"Yes, we can."

"But we don't even know where this man lives!"

"We'll find out," said Harry. "If he's got so many fans, someone out there is bound to have his address."

"It's not that easy! We'll have to get leave from work and I'll have to find a babysitter and …"

"You could leave Hugo with Ginny," Harry suggested. "I don't think we should bring her with us unless we really have to. If she finds out about the 'Ginger Weasel' character, she'll tear Rowland limb from limb."

"Suits me fine," Ron muttered.

Hermione sighed. "All right, I'll go back and find the book that's got the biography in it. But I'll have to be quick, the shops shut soon. Excuse me …" She got up from the table, leaving Harry to stare into his drink while Ron continued to despair over the contents of Potty Gary.

"Some of this is actually quite funny," he said thoughtfully. "Have you read the bit where Professor Rape goes down to his torture chamber and –"

"No, and I don't think I want to," Harry told him. They sat in silence until Hermione returned with an even larger and heavier book in her hands.

"Right, this is the latest one," she said, putting it down on the table for them to see. "And I've bought this celebrity gossip magazine, because the cover says there's a story about him inside." While she flicked through the glossy pages of the magazine, Harry turned to the inside of Potty Gary and the Pensioner of Uzbekistan to read about J.S.D. Rowland.

_J.S.D. (Jack Sarsaparilla Demetrius) Rowland was born in Stoke–on–Trent. He was inspired to become an author after he fell down a manhole and hit his head while walking five hundred miles to a Proclaimers gig. Ever since then, he has lived as a recluse at the top of a mountain in Snowdonia, periodically coming out of his house to go to the post box and send off the manuscript of his latest book__. His first novel, __Potty Gary and the Philosopher Get Stoned__, was an international hit which has sold more than fifteen million copies in Britain alone. It has been translated into every language in existence, and even some that don't exist. Rowland plans to write ten books about his hero Gary (seven in the original series and a trilogy of prequels) then give it all up and spend the rest of his life as a celebrity drunk._

"Some good that is in helping us find him," Harry said aloud, but was interrupted by a gasp from Hermione. "What's wrong?"

"Look," she said, opening the magazine for them to see and jabbing her finger at an article. "It says here that J.S.D. Rowland will be making a rare public appearance at the midnight release party for the new book! That's the best place to catch him if we can't find his house."

"Great! When is it?" Harry asked. Hermione turned back to the article. "It's in London, and he'll be here on the twenty–fourth of … that's this weekend! So we _won't_ have to take time off work." She frowned at him accusingly.

"Never mind that now," Harry said impatiently. "Don't make any plans for this weekend, because when Rowland gets there, that's where we'll be."

"When who gets where?" said a familiar voice from behind him. All three turned around to see that Ginny had appeared at Harry's shoulder. "Did I miss something?"

"What are you doing here?" said Ron.

"I finished early today, so I thought I'd come in for a drink." She pulled a chair over to their table. "What's happening? Who's this Rowland person? What are you reading?" Ginny picked up one of the books and pulled a face. "Potty Gary and the Philosopher Get Stoned?"

Harry took a deep breath.

"Are you sitting comfortably?" he began.


End file.
